


Insult to Injury

by seekrest



Series: IronDad Bingo [16]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (it’s for blondsak are you even surprised?), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), BAMF Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Morgan Stark Needs a Hug (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Presumed Dead, Protective Peter Parker, Self-Sacrifice, Threats of Violence, canon nudged to the left, descriptions of torture, this is a mean one my dudes, yeah this is one of those, you know that meme about enduring any pain as long as there’s a happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: “You have got to stop eavesdropping, Mo. Someday, you’re gonna overhear something you’re gonna wish you didn’t,” Peter says tiredly, Morgan going to say something further only for Peter’s back to straighten - his body tense as he glances around.Whatever argument that Morgan has immediately falls away, recognizing that look from a lifetime of being surrounded by literal superheroes as she asks, “What’s wrong?”He doesn’t get the chance to answer, the sounds of something like fireworks popping off as he throw himself over her - pushing her down to the ground so hard that her head snaps against the pavement.“Ow,” Morgan mutters, dizzy and a little out of breath from how heavy Peter is only for a swell of panic to rush through her when she realizes Peter isn’t moving.“Peter?”—IronDad Bingo: Presumed Dead
Relationships: Johnny Storm & Morgan Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: IronDad Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652680
Comments: 234
Kudos: 553





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts).



> To one of the kindest, loveliest, most gentle human beings - my brilliant blondsak!!!!
> 
> Happy birthday!!!! You being born is an incredible gift and I shudder to think what the world would be like without you. 
> 
> To celebrate, here’s a fic of me killing Peter. But only a little bit ;)

“Are you gonna sulk all day or are you gonna eat that?”

Morgan frowns, looking up to see Peter staring at her expectantly. She watches as his eyes flick down to her plate of half-eaten fries then back to her, head nodding towards the plate in front of her. 

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, pushing it towards him as she says, “Have at it.”

“I know you think you’re punishing me,” Peter says, taking a fry from the plate and shoving it into his mouth. Morgan makes a face, Peter talking with his mouth full as he continues, “but this is the nicest lunch I’ve had all week.”

Morgan rolls her eyes, refusing to dignify him with an answer as she folds her arms together - glancing out to the busy street.

She hadn’t even wanted to go out to lunch in the first place, tradition be damned. She was too pissed at Peter right now to even look at him - much less sit across from him and watch as he ate three burgers, four plates of fries and now the rest of hers like he hadn’t been raised by the nicest woman on the planet. 

It was disgusting and juvenile but Morgan didn’t really care to argue with him, though she could tell from a lifetime of knowing that Peter that this was intentional - _trying_ to get a rise out of her or at the very least, convince her to say more than two words to him.

Peter should’ve known by now that a Stark never backs down. 

Morgan leans further into the squeaky booth that they’re in, pointedly ignoring the look that Peter is no doubt sending her way as she watches the cars and people pass by outside the window. 

If it hadn’t been for her dad pushing her to go, she might’ve gotten away with skipping out today - the excited little look he got in his eye anytime her and Peter spent any time together still showing up all these years later. Morgan was old enough now to be aware that this was some weird fear of his that like so many other things, Morgan only discovered from late night internet searches rather than a _conversation_ like a _normal family_. 

Which wasn’t fair. She knew she had it good, relatively speaking - especially compared to some of the stories her friends would share about their own families. Her parents loved each other still _\- gross -_ and was surrounded by people who all loved her and wished for the best for her life.

It didn’t take away the fact that her life - much less her family’s - had a Wikipedia page. That there were people out there who knew more about her parents than she ever would. That the person sitting across from her wasn’t just her family all but in name, but could also lift a bus over his head. 

Growing up in the spotlight wasn’t anything she had to get used to - it was just her life. She could barely remember her first few years, faint images of a quieter existence that felt like it was another lifetime. All Morgan had ever remembered was the busyness and chaos that came with living in New York City post-Blip. 

She heard stories from her parents that the city had always been a mess or would listen to Uncle Rhodey or Happy talk about the differences in traffic, but to Morgan, it was just how it was - rolling her eyes right along with her friends when anyone who was alive before the Blip talked about how the world was then. 

It’s not that Morgan was completely oblivious. She knew the Blip was something traumatic and awful and that over a decade later, the world was still trying to recover from it in new and horrifying ways. The threat of intergalactic domination may be terrifying for the adults in her life to think about but to Morgan and her friends, it was a joke. 

How could it not be - born literally into a world that had been left behind only for everyone to claim that it had been made “right” once again? How was that supposed to make people like Morgan feel - like they were just replacements for all the people that were lost? 

Normally, Morgan wouldn’t even give a second’s thought to how the world had been like before she was born except that now, looking back to see Peter demolish her plate of fries, she couldn’t help but think what life would’ve been like if the Blip hadn’t happened. 

Naturally, there was every possibility that Morgan wouldn’t have been born. Her mom used to tell her time and time again, back in her moody tweenager days, that her father wanted her long before he had ever lost a fight against a nine-foot-genocidal purple alien. Morgan believed her more or less, but she still allowed the thought to rattle around in her brain - wondering if Peter would’ve been as close to their family in that imaginary world like he was now. 

Morgan was smart - she had to be, being the daughter of a genius, billionaire CEO as well as _Tony Stark_. She was also wildly observant, a mixture of her genetics and growing up in the spotlight but also in no small part because of the influence of living in Michelle Jones’ orbit for most of her life. 

She picked up on the clues that maybe no one else did or wanted to, feeling sometimes as if she was an observer in her own life. A footnote in the story of people greater than she would ever be.

She knew how _different_ her dad was before Iron Man from the internet, the cheesy B movies that came up every few years proving that there wouldn’t be a person alive who would ever forget about the origins of Tony Stark. 

Yet Morgan was willing to risk it all - _mostly_ \- for the chance to invent time travel herself, go back and make it so whatever bullshit that had separated the Avengers and made them lose in the first place hadn’t happened. Change it all so that the Blip couldn’t happen, no matter the cost. 

The trauma and the shock of seeing loved ones turn to dust in front of you would be an automatic benefit in Morgan’s eyes but she was selfish and short sighted enough to admit that she had a different focus in mind. 

That particular focus being the removal of Johnny Storm in Peter’s life, a small price to pay in the grand scheme of everything - considering him and his family only came back from space because of the Blip. 

Childish? Sure. Necessary? Maybe, especially since for all the things she’d seen as being the daughter of Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, she’s still not sure she’s ever seen as much drama as what came from being an observer of Peter’s dating life. 

Morgan leans forward on the table, glaring at Peter who looks at her with an expression she’s seen dozens of times before - three times alone today. It’s one that’s so painfully familiar, one that reminds her so much of her dad that if she wasn’t so upset she’d feel a little jealous, only to stave down that feeling as quickly as it comes. 

He swallows the food in his mouth and sighs before asking, “What now?”

“You know what. You’re being an idiot.”

“Morgan…” Peter says tiredly, running a hand over his face as Morgan frowns. 

“You and MJ were doing great. Why did you guys even break up in the first place? What could it possibly be this time?” Morgan asks with a huff, Peter bringing his hand down and resting it on the table - looking at her with a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. 

“It’s… complicated.”

“ _How_ complicated?”

“ _Complicated_ complicated,” Peter says dismissively, reaching into his pocket and opening up his wallet - grabbing some bills. “If you’re just gonna interrogate me, I’ll take you home.”

“Why’d you even bother taking me to lunch if you didn’t wanna talk?” She bounces back, Peter looking exasperated. He motions to the booth that they’re in. 

“Cause this is what we do, Mo. We get burgers at Jim’s on Saturday, you tell me about your life and I tell you about mine and we act like one big happy family.”

“We’re _not_ one big happy family because _you’re_ the one being a total dumbass,” Morgan scowls, Peter pressing his lips together as he lays the bills he has on his hand on the table. 

“Morgan—”

“I’m serious, Pete. I don’t get it. You and MJ were _good_ , it was like… like it was going somewhere this time,” she says, catching something flash in Peter’s eyes. She’s known him long enough to see that she’s touched on a nerve, pushing forward as she says, “I don’t understand why you keep doing this.”

Peter mutters something under his breath that Morgan doesn’t catch, blowing air out of his mouth before straightening his shoulders and saying, “It’s a lot more… complicated than that, Mo.”

“Do you love her?” Morgan asks, watching as Peter winces.

“Yeah, but—“

“And she loves you?”

Peter sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he says, “Yeah, yeah she does.”

“Then what’s the problem? You love each other. Figure it out.”

Peter brings a hand down, almost pleading with her as he says, “it’s not that simple, Mo. Just because MJ and I are… taking a break doesn’t mean you two have to stop hanging out—“

“And now,” Morgan says as if Peter hadn’t started talking, “you’re hanging around that walking flamethrower.”

Peter rolls his eyes this time, shaking his head as he moves out of the booth. “God, there’s two of you. What is it with you and your dad hating Johnny? What has ever done to you guys?”

“I don’t trust him, I don’t like him, and I don’t know what you see in him,” Morgan says plainly, Peter letting out a sharp laugh as he stands. Morgan scrambles after him, following behind as the two of them wave to Melinda behind the counter. 

The bell jingles as Peter walks forward, letting Morgan out before him as she says, “You always get hurt when you’re with him cause he’s constantly talking you into doing stupid stuff. You’re dating _down_ , Peter.”

Peter sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets as Morgan works to walk in step with him - cursing the fact that she inherited her father’s height. 

“First of all, we’re not _dating_ ,” Peter says with a grimace, Morgan instantly making a face at the implication as he continues, “And second of all, what do _you_ know about what he talks me into. I thought you didn’t care about Spider-Man stuff.”

“I don’t,” Morgan says, Peter snorting as she says, “But I hear you and my dad talk and—“

“You have got to stop eavesdropping, Mo. Someday, you’re gonna overhear something you’re gonna wish you didn’t,” Peter says tiredly, Morgan going to say something further only for Peter’s back to straighten - his body tense as he glances around.

Whatever argument that Morgan has immediately falls away, recognizing that look from a lifetime of being surrounded by literal superheroes as she asks, “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer, the sounds of something like fireworks popping off as he throw himself over her - pushing her down to the ground so hard that her head snaps against the pavement. 

“Ow,” Morgan mutters, dizzy and a little out of breath from how heavy Peter is only for a swell of panic to rush through her when she realizes Peter isn’t moving. 

“Peter?”

“Shit,” he mutters, Morgan’s eyes widening as he sits up - a deep and dark red stain billowing out across his midsection. He presses a hand to it, locking eyes with Morgan before saying, “We have to go.”

Morgan immediately moves to do so only to feel something like a pin prick - sharp and sudden - at her neck, Peter’s eyes bulging out as he sees it.

“Wha—”

“Morgan!” 

The world grows fuzzy at that, the squeal of tires and gravity coming into motion - a scuffle just outside of her line of sight. 

“Morgan! Don’t—”

She hears more fireworks - _gunshots_ \- her vision darkening as there’s another cry, feeling like she was floating as gravity begins to lose its sense of meaning.

“He’s not dead?” 

“MORGAN!” 

“BRING HIM WITH US!”

“ _MORGAN!”_

The voices around her are all swarming around, the sound of a fight and sharp words all fading into the background. 

Morgan doesn’t get the chance to make sense of it, her vision going black as she slips into unconsciousness. 

* * *

The first thing that Morgan is aware of is the sound of something almost like pipes - a groan that echoes across whatever room that she’s being held in.

The second thing that she’s most definitely being held in a room, wincing as she slowly starts to stir herself awake. Her head is killing her and the back of it feels a little tender, a part of her wondering if she got a little roughed up in the transport from the street to wherever the hell she was being kept now. 

She slowly opens her eyes, blinking a few times to take stock of where she is. 

It’s a damp, cold room - typical, they couldn’t even be _original_ this time - one lone light bulb hanging down from the ceiling like she was in some cheesy C-grade horror movie. 

Morgan looks down to herself, surprised to find that she isn’t tied up like the last time - laying on some kind of mattress that’s probably seen better days but with a blanket thrown over her. There’s a spike of fear when she takes stock of herself for a second only for relief to flood her when she recognizes that she’s still fully clothed, swallowing down the bile at how fucked up her life was that she was so used to being kidnapped that she had to do these checks in the first place. 

Before Morgan gets the chance to take any more inventory of where she is, she’s distracted by the sound of the pipes once again - only for her eyes to widen when she turns and sees that it’s _not_ pipes at all but Peter. 

“Peter?” Morgan whispers, her voice cracking as she sits up - the fear she’d been able to keep at bay bubbling up as she looks him up and down.

He’s sprawled out on his stomach, Morgan’s own stomach twisting into knots when she sees the dark red stain underneath him. His skin is a ghostly shade of pale, sweat beading across his forehead and his eyes scrunched up tight like he’s in pain.

Distant, fuzzy memories start to come back to her - looking around to see if there’s anyone keeping watch of them. She sees the camera in the corner of the room, though the blinking red light on the top is off. Morgan’s smart enough to know that this means nothing. She can’t tell if these guys were smart enough to have pulled off grabbing her in broad daylight or particularly _stupid_ for doing so - not even mentioning the fact that they were able to grab Peter.

His ragged breathing turns her attention back to him, swallowing down the panic in her throat as she whispers, “Pete?”

She watches his eyes flutter before they lazily blink open, a half-smile and then a wheeze that makes her grimace when she sees the blood smeared across his teeth as he says, “M’rgan?”

Morgan glances to the camera once more before slowly crawling away from the mattress and towards Peter, putting her focus back on the first aid skills she’s gotten over the years. She can’t even count the number of times in her life that she’s been witness to this - Peter in various stages of agony after a fight from some superpowered idiot. 

But this is something more common and infinitely more horrifying, wondering if she’s making a colossal mistake as she pulls her hands from underneath him and tries to gently flip him onto his back - Peter’s pained wheeze causing the panic in her throat to bubble up once more.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters to herself, eyes widening as she takes him in.

He’d clearly been shot several times - one in his gut and another across his right arm, Morgan’s hands bloody from the effort of lifting him. But it’s the bullet wound in his chest, dangerously close to his heart that causes her breath to hitch - eyes finally meeting Peter’s as he wheezes.

“Y-you ‘kay?”

Morgan isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or to cry, shaking her head before looking more at the wounds in front of her as she says, “MJ’s right, you’re an idiot.”

His laugh turns into a wheeze, Morgan trying to take stock of what’s in front of her. 

Despite the bloody mess that her hands and the floor beneath them are, he isn’t bleeding anymore - the holes where the bullets went in already well on their way to healing. She grits her teeth, the inflamed skin around each of the puncture wounds telling her all that she needs to know. 

“We gotta get these out of you,” she whispers, hands brushing against his shirt only for Peter to bring his hand over hers to stop her - Morgan looking at him in confusion as his chest heaves.

“No, you can’t— can’t,” he coughs, the panic that Morgan had been trying so hard to keep down welling up as he says, “they don’t— they don’t know.” 

Things start snapping into place just as the door starts to open, Peter letting out another wheeze as he works to bring himself back to his stomach.

“Peter—“

“They don’t know and we need to keep it that way. It’ll get us out. Follow my lead,” Peter pants, closing his eyes as he lays his head back down on the cold floor before whispering, “Do Megara.”

Morgan immediately understands and hates it - not just the plan but Peter closing his eyes as he settles on the ground. He looks dead, which Morgan knows is the point but it still freaks her out, turning on the waterworks as the door swings open.

“No, no, no, no. Wake up, please. Wake up,” she half-cries, half-whispers, gently shaking at Peter and hating that she’s doing so.

For as much as Peter had super powers, she knows he still feels pain. But if she’s gonna sell this, if their plan was going to work - she had to go all in.

“Sorry about your boyfriend sweetheart,” she hears some guy say, willing for more tears to fill before she looks back at him.

He’s short, balding - the kind of scrunched up expression on his face that in another scenario Morgan would’ve talked the shit out of. 

But Peter had said “Megara” - telling her all that she needed to know about how to play this.

“ _What did you do to him_?” She cries out, letting the sob she feels building back in her throat out - pressing a hand to Peter’s back.

It’s the right tactic as the guy shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he says, “What we had to, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend wouldn’t go quietly. Figured the mess would lead the cops straight to us.”

“He’s—he’s—“ Morgan forced her breath to hitch, inwardly pleased when the man in front of her takes the bait as he grins.

“Dead, or just as well. Thought this might be good enough incentive for you.”

“Incentive for what?” She asks, sniffling as tears fall down her cheeks.

She hated this bit, listening to some ego-driven bad guy talk her ear off endlessly - much less the tears and the snot she’s currently working up to sell it. 

_Megara_ was one of five kidnapping plans Morgan had prepared for - this one in particular being named for the really old Disney cartoon that Peter himself had been obsessed with. 

Damsel in distress wasn’t something Morgan liked playing but even if she was pissed at Peter, she knew better than to go against the plan. 

For now, at least. 

“Incentive for daddy to get his ass into gear. Pay up that sweet ransom Randy is sending him now.”

“My dad doesn’t negotiate with _terrorists_ ,” she snaps back, feeling Peter tense under her hand. This isn’t part of the plan but there’s only so much Morgan can handle - the man in front of her laughing like she’d told the funniest joke in the world.

“Takes one to know one, sweetheart. Your daddy’s the biggest terrorist there is. And now with you,” his smile so sickening that it makes Morgan want to vomit, “We finally have a chance to bargain.”

Morgan wants to curse him out and almost does, only for Peter’s hand to twitch out of the corner of her eye - a small enough gesture that she can catch it but her idiotic kidnapper doesn’t. 

“We’ll see what you think in a few hours,” he says with a grin, backing up and closing the door behind him.

Morgan exhales loudly, staring at the door until Peter stirs - immediately bringing her attention back to him as she says, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t antagonize him,” Peter wheezes, somehow sounding even worse than he had before. She wonders if the switch in position had done more harm than help, even if Peter struggles to sit up slightly until he’s on his side.

“We need to get out of here,” Morgan whispers, looking back towards the supposed off camera with a sinking feeling in her stomach - even if she knows that if Peter is acting as if he’s okay now then there must be nothing to worry about, considering his sense for danger.”

“No shit,” Peter pants out, grimacing in pain as he tries to sit up even more - only to give up and snap his eyes open.

Morgan feels helpless - something she absolutely hates, as Peter wheezes. A determined look flows across his face, hardening his features as he catches his breath.

“Don’t worry, I have a plan.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Morgan—” Peter wheezes, Morgan shaking her head furiously as she whispers, “Are you serious? Is this a joke? Cause it’s a really shitty one.”

Peter swallows something down in his throat before coughing, Morgan wincing at how wet and haggard it sounds. It’s further support that Peter is being completely ridiculous, as she says, “It’s a good plan.”

“No, it’s a bad plan. The opposite of a good plan. MJ’s right, you don’t think at _all_ do you?” Morgan asks, half joking and half serious as Peter lets out a laugh. It turns into another horrifying wheeze, one that makes Morgan’s fingers twitch for how awful it sounds. 

For all the preparation for what to do if she was kidnapped, for all the times that she’s seen Peter in worse scrapes than even this, there’s something uniquely terrifying about seeing the bullet holes in his body - healing right in front of her eyes but in the exact wrong way. The bullet holes in his arm and his gut already look as if they’re closed and healing, but Morgan _knows_ they’re doing damage to his insides - wishing now that she’d paid more attention to the ramblings of his doctors the last time he was stuck in the medbay.

The longer that they’re here, the greater there’s a chance for some kind of blood poisoning or something even worse. Morgan doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that for as weird and incredible as Peter’s healing is, it doesn’t stand a chance when the injury is coming from the inside out. 

She wishes there was something she could do to fix this, but she knows she can’t. Morgan was smart but she wasn’t a genius - not like her dad or even Peter, much as she was loathed to admit it. 

In her younger, more spiteful days, Morgan almost resented Peter for it. Not quite the bond that he and her dad shared but more the seemingly level playing field, always feeling like the odd one out when it came to talking about tech or his web shooters or whatever the hell else they got up to during those hours long lab times. Neither of them ignored her nor did she ever _really_ feel excluded, but it was there all the same - the total understanding that for as much as Tony Stark was her father, he and Peter connected in a way that she never would. 

What she wouldn’t give for her dad to be here _now_ , not just because he would know how to get them out of here but that they wouldn’t have been kidnapped in the first place - even if Morgan knows that the fact that her dad is, well _her dad_ , that this made her a target. 

Whatever plan her dad would’ve made, it definitely would’ve been better than the shit Peter was trying to pull, shaking her head once more as Peter sighs. Or tries to, only to devolve into another coughing fit. 

“You’re not going to be able to fight your way out of this, Pete,” she says, fingers twitching against her thigh as she glances around the empty room that they’re in. “There’s no windows, both of our cell phones are gone, there’s no way out and,” she turns back to Peter, looking pointedly at the red and splotchy skin peeking out from his shirt, “that doesn’t look good at all.”

“I’m fine, I’m healing,” Peter tries to say convincingly, Morgan twisting her lips around as her eyes drift to the beads of sweat forming across his forehead. 

“You don’t _look_ like you’re healing. You _look_ like a slight breeze could take you out,” Morgan snaps back, only for Peter to make a face she doesn’t recognize until it devolves into a laugh. 

“ _What_?” She snaps again, Peter shaking his head as he says, “You sound just like your dad.”

“What? Having common sense?”

“A smart mouth,” Peter says with a grin, Morgan’s stomach dropping when she sees the blood still smeared across his teeth. Her face must give her way because Peter’s own smile falls, pressing his lips together before swallowing down something in his throat. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Mo. We’re gonna be fine.”

“I know,” Morgan says, a little too quickly to convince even herself, “I know we will. And it _won’t_ be because of your stupid ass plan.” 

“If we just—” Peter begins, only to be cut off when his head snaps towards the door. “Quick, get back to the mattress. They’re coming.”

“Peter—”

“Morgan, please. _Trust me_ ,” Peter says, eyes boring into hers as Morgan presses her lips together - fuming but doing as he asks as she scrambles back to the mattress, not having to do a lot of work to scrounge up a sob. 

It was a terrible plan, objectively speaking. Morgan hated playing the damsel sure, but Peter was in no position to fight anyone - much less against the scrunched up faced Idiot 1 and Idiot 2, a six foot tall guy that reminded her a little too much of Happy, coming in to check in on her. 

She’s not sure how much time has passed, but she knows it has to be long enough that her dad would know that something was wrong - their usual lunch dates never taking longer than a few hours at best, especially the past few weeks. 

Things had been strained between her and Peter ever since he broke up with MJ, to the point where if her dad hadn’t all but forced her to go this time, Morgan likely would’ve ditched him and gotten lunch with her instead. 

It didn’t make sense to Morgan - why they broke up again for the upteempth time, why he was spending any length of time with _Johnny Storm_ of all people even if she believed Peter when he said that they weren’t dating - the very thought of _that_ making her want to vomit in a different way. Whatever the nature of their relationship - one that they clearly had from all the things she saw on social media of the two of them bantering back and forth as they flew throughout the city - all Morgan could see it as was a distraction from the people who actually loved him the most.

She was pissed at him, still but now she was even more pissed that he was going to continue to do this - throwing himself into danger with a half-baked plan and expecting the people around him to just follow along willingly. 

Yet Morgan listened anyway, only for the fact that she didn’t have a better idea yet when the door swings open once again - Idiot 1 and Idiot 2 coming in one right after the other. Idiot 1 is the same one from before, holding a tray of food - a sandwich and some chips from the looks of it. 

Morgan sniffles for posterity, forcing the tears into her eyes as she curls her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chins on her knees. 

“What do you want?” She asks tearfully, inwardly hating that Idiot 1 so willingly accepted her schtick even if it fit according to Peter’s plan as he tuts to himself.

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk to someone bringing you food. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you manners?”

Morgan wants to snap back something sarcastic but doesn’t, forcing herself to stick to Peter’s stupid ass plan as she forces herself to sound weak and terrified. 

“When can I go home?” She asks pitifully, blinking away tears that she doesn’t have to work very hard to give. 

Idiot 1 looks sympathetic, placing the tray down in front of her as he kneels down. 

“You can go home when daddy sends us the money we asked for. He’s being a little difficult, but that’s to be expected. Your daddy drives a hard bargain. Wants proof of life and all that,” he says menacingly, a chill running down her spine.

Idiot 1 turns to the Idiot 2, Morgan glancing at him as he stares at her. 

“Randy.” 

Idiot 2, _Randy_ , takes a step forward - Morgan involuntarily pressing her back against the wall as terror begins to grip her spine, not needing to act too much when she says, “What are you gonna do?”

“Your daddy wants proof of _life_ ,” Idiot 1 says, the smile on his face causing real fear to churn in her gut as Randy takes another step forward. “Never said anything about the state of you.” 

Terror floods throughout her, immobilized only for a second only for Peter to spring into action - taking _this_ moment to launch himself from the floor.

It’s not the plan by a long shot, not _now_ \- the whole thing being that Peter was going to fight the two of them once they had a better lay of the land. Not just who they were dealing with but where exactly they were located. Then, and only _then_ , would they fight their way out. 

But the threat to Morgan accelerates that ten times fold, an undeniable sense of relief in her stomach at seeing Peter so easily move to defend her. 

“What the fu—” Idiot 1 begins to say as Peter clocks him across the jaw, sending him straight to the ground when he yells out, “Morgan, MOVE.”

She does as she’s told, scrambling out of the way as Randy braces himself to fight Peter, the surprise he has turning to fury. 

It doesn’t even stand to be a fair fight, regardless of the laundry list of internal injuries Peter’s no doubt accumulated. Randy is massive, six feet tall and built like a tank but Peter is _Peter_ , Randy swinging at him only for Peter to easily dodge it. He swings across Randy’s head with his elbow, Randy letting out a harsh grunt as Peter throws another arm, slamming Randy to the ground and knocking him out in two seconds. 

Morgan’s breathing heavy and she hasn’t even done anything, Peter glancing at the two unconscious goons before glancing at her - a smile on his face as he says, “See? Done and done.”

Before Morgan even gets the chance to answer, Peter snaps to attention once again - the world moving in slow motion as another bang rings out across the room, Morgan yelling out “NO!” as Peter hits the ground. 

She rushes to him, placing her hands on his chest as Peter immediately begins to gasp like a fish on dry land as he clutches at his chest again - looking up just as a voice calls out, “Now, you see what you made me do?”

Morgan turns to see another man walk through the door, wearing an awful pale blue suit and wearing sunglasses indoors - looking like one of those cheesy impersonators of her dad that trolled Times Square. 

“Who the hell are you?” She asks, the man in the tacky suit tsking as he walks forward - gun still steadily trained on her. 

Morgan should feel more fear while looking down the barrel of yet another gun but she’s more concerned with the liquid running through her fingers, pressing down on Peter’s chest as he gasps. 

That’s _four_ bullet wounds, no matter if the first had already started healing - Morgan immediately feeling a wave of guilt for how relieved she’d been that Peter had thrown himself into danger for her. He was a superhero, sure and had super healing - but he injured and in so much pain that it aches at Morgan’s insides, hating for the thousandth time how helpless she truly was. 

“You’re telling me your daddy never told you about me? _Me_? I’d be more offended if that wasn’t to be completely expected,” he says with a sigh, motioning the gun to Morgan. “Now. Here I thought that Randy and Henry here could take care of business but clearly, I have to do everything myself.”

“Leave— leave her alone,” Peter wheezes, the man looking to him with curiosity as he takes another step forward.

“Now _you_. You are supposed to be dead and yet…” the man’s face forms a pinched expression, almost as if he’d eaten a sour lemon as he points the gun towards Morgan once more. “Here you are. A little old to be a boyfriend aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Morgan snarls, the man whistling before he laughs. 

“ _Just_ like your father aren’t you? Or is that a little bit of dear Ms. Potts? Never can tell with those two. Wildcards.”

Morgan’s arms are shaking from pressing down on Peter’s chest but she doesn’t dare relieve the pressure, terrified now even more so of what will happen if she does. She knows that the fact that he’s been shot three times and that his healing had tried to heal around the wounds, with the bullets still inside, couldn’t have been good. 

The fact that he’s bleeding now through her fingers, shot once again only serves to make her wish that she’d successfully ditched their lunch date once again - if only to have prevented _this_. 

“Now this _is_ a mystery and you know, I love a good puzzle,” the man says once again, Morgan’s attention shifting to the door as three more guys walk into the room they’re in. They’re just as tall and just as imposing as Randy before them, Morgan looking back to the man in the pale suit as he grins. 

“Not a boyfriend but a… protector, nonetheless. Now, if I know anything about Tony Stark and I know quite a bit, I know that there’s precious few that he would ever allow into his inner circle. Much less, to be around his only daughter.”

He brings his hand to his chin, bringing the gun across his chest as he folds his arms. Peter goes to move only for the man to say, “Ah ah, ah. I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you.”

He nods once, a signal that Morgan recognizes a beat too late as two of the guys from the door rush towards her. She’s pulled from Peter in an instant, catching his eyes as they widen and he tries to sit up.

“Let me—” Morgan goes to say only to be cut off by strong arms wrapped around her neck, Peter coughing uncontrollably as he sits up and croaks out, “LET HER GO.”

“Why do you care so much?” The man in the suit asks, Morgan not really caring about anything as she struggles to breathe. “Who is she to you? _Who_ are you?” 

One of the men lifts her up while the other has her in a chokehold, grabbing at them as much as she can but her efforts being fruitless - what little air she has in her lungs feeling thin as she gasps.

“Let her—let her g—” Peter’s cut off by his coughing, Morgan not even having enough air to try and respond - her vision swarming a little as she continues to struggle. 

The man says something more but Morgan’s not totally sure of what it is, the fleeting thought occurring to her that she might be dying whispering in the back of her mind. She’d never really thought much about her death, much less that these would be the circumstances but Morgan can’t help but be glad that it’ll be quick - the pressure of the strong hands around her neck blocking out anything else as her chest heaves, lungs aching for oxygen that they’re never going to get.

“ _MORGAN!_ ” She hears Peter call out, distant and familiar as she struggles to hold onto consciousness - another voice warbling in the distance. 

The voices around her dip in and out of focus as she feels her eyes starting to roll towards the back of her head, everything around her beginning to go dark only for the pressure around her neck to release- the arms holding her up off the ground gone before she can even blink. 

She hits the ground hard, vision going black for a moment as the voices continue to buzz around her - feeling hands on her once again and her world shifting as she’s faced upwards.

“Morgan? Mo, look at— look at me,” she hears Peter wheeze, sounding terrified and yet like he could barely catch his breath. Morgan struggles to open her eyes but does so, only to see the pale and terrified expression Peter has on his face before it turns into immeasurable relief. 

“And yet here you are, half-dead yourself and still caring about Stark’s spawn,” the man’s voice rings out again, Morgan getting the distinct impression that she’d missed something when she was in a chokehold. 

“Touch her again and you’ll regret it,” Peter snarls, only to couch again - Morgan watching as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, seeing the blood still on his hand as she tries to catch her breath.

“Do we have an agreement?” She hears the other voice ask, Peter’s answer warbling out when a ringing in her ears blocks out everything else. 

Everything hurts - the knock on her head from before, the pained pressure from the hands that had been around her neck and the hit she’d just taken from falling to the ground once more - a dizziness overwhelming her senses as she tries to focus on what’s happening around her. 

The man and Peter’s voice continue to go back and forth, distant and echoey until she feels Peter being moved out from under her. 

Morgan gasps, trying to ask where he’s going only to find that she can’t - her throat still feeling like there’s glass inside of it as she tries to sit up, one hand gingerly reaching for her neck as Peter’s dragged out of the room. 

Yet he’s going willingly, Morgan feeling more terrified than she had even seconds before at the idea of being left alone - watching as he turns back to her with a determined expression on his face.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mo,” he wheezes, only for one of the guys holding him to forcefully shove him forward - Morgan wishing that she could breathe right, much less call him out for being an idiot. 

The man in the suit comes closer to her, Morgan feeling equal parts indignation and fury as she glares at him. He kneels, Morgan fuming as he says, “Sorry for that little bit of unpleasantness. I’m afraid I had bigger plans but considering—”

Whatever he has to say, Morgan isn’t interested in hearing it - sending the hand she had gingerly touching her neck across his face in a backhanded slap, the man clearly thrown off of it. Morgan takes advantage of the forward momentum, throwing her body weight over him as she punches him with her other hand. Her chest and her neck feel like a weight is on her, pain seizing through her at the effort but Morgan’s pissed as hell - furious that she’s been kidnapped in the first place, even more so that whatever Peter’s plan had been that now it’s been replaced for something even more stupid like trading himself for her. 

Strong arms pull her off the man in the suit, trying to cry out only for the pain in her throat to feel like knives were being shoved down them as she does so - glancing up to see Randy now standing and awake as she drags him off of her.

“You little—” the man in the suit says before coughing, rubbing at his jaw before wincing as Peter calls out, “WE HAD A DEAL!”

“You want me to teach her a lesson?” Randy says from above her, terror and fury flowing through her in equal measure as Morgan evaluates her options - ready to start fighting for her life if she needs to.

“No,” the man in the suit croaks out, “no. We need her for leverage. Just because you and Henry couldn’t take care of things properly doesn’t mean the plan has changed.”

Randy roughly lets her go, Morgan shoving her hands away from him only to wheeze - the ache in her chest and in her neck so painful that it takes all her attention to focus on the act of breathing as she glances to Peter. 

His eyes are pleading with her, communicating everything that he can’t say. Morgan hates it, just as much as she hates the situation. 

“Take him out of here,” the man in the suit says, Peter going to say something more only for the same hands that had nearly choked her to death to slam over his mouth - Morgan going to yell something out to him only to find that she can’t. 

Randy backs away just as Henry begins to stir, the man in the suit slapping at him as he helps himself up. 

“Now, I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” he says, nodding towards the door. “Take Henry out to meet the rest of them and get our guest properly situated.” 

Randy does as he’s told, half walking, half dragging Henry out with him as Morgan scowls at the man in the suit. 

She tries to say something only to find that she still can’t, hating now more than ever she wasn’t spectacular or superpowered - glaring at the man as he shakes his head. 

“You’re a fighter, I’ll give you that. But looks like your friend Peter here had a better deal in mind. Don’t worry little Stark, you’ll get home soon enough.” 

Morgan’s mind is racing, red flags all popping up at the mention of Peter’s name - something she knows she hadn’t given and now was wondering if the ‘broken’ camera had been broken after all as the man smiles.

He nods towards the sandwich still on the ground before saying, “Enjoy your dinner.”

The man limps as he makes his way out of the room, Morgan feeling a rush of pride that she’d done so only for all the fight to drain out of her as soon as the door closes - shoulders sagging as she tries to take stock of what happened. 

Peter had clearly bargained with these idiots, exchanging himself to protect her. She hated this, hated everything about the situation she was in, hated that this was the life that she’d been given and that nothing she could’ve done could’ve changed it, not least of which the fact that once again Peter had made a decision for her. 

She reaches a hand to her throat once more, wincing at how much pain she’s in before looking around the room around her. 

_What now_? She thinks, glancing around at the now quiet and empty dark room. 

Physically, she’s in more pain than she thinks she’s ever been, her throat feeling almost like it was on fire and her arms and legs feeling like they’re already forming bruises from the way she’s been manhandled. 

But Morgan’s struck with an unbearable ache in her chest that has nothing to do with her lungs, feeling completely and utterly alone. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added another chapter because of who I am as a person. Happy whumptober ;)

Morgan’s whole body aches when she wakes up, the tightness across her throat and her chest still feeling like a weight’s been attached to it as she blinks her eyes open.

It’s like the day after she’d been in the ring for the first time with Happy, her body feeling sore as she takes stock of all of her fingers and toes - looking up at the ceiling of the room where she’s in and her memories rushing back to her. 

_ Kidnapped. Right,  _ she thinks. Morgan turns only to see that the food that was there before has been changed from a sandwich to soup, a tall glass of what looks like water sitting next to it as she frowns. 

Morgan slowly sits up, wincing as she does so only to hear a sound that sends a shiver down her spine. 

Someone is screaming,  _ crying _ out in pain like they’re being torn from the inside out - a wave of nausea washing over her at the realization that the most likely candidate for this sound was the one person who wasn’t in the room with her.

_ Peter, what did you do? _

Morgan glances around the room once more in vain, knowing that she’s in an impossible situation made even worse. 

Peter clearly traded himself for her, something that she’s wildly pissed off at him about even if a small part of her is secretly, shamefully grateful. She knows logically that whatever hell that Peter’s going through - another ear-splitting scream sending a shiver down her spine - that at least he was going  _ through _ it. 

Whatever plans that they might’ve originally had for her, Morgan’s convinced from the sound of Peter’s agonized cries that she wouldn’t have survived it. 

Morgan can’t help but wonder if they ever had any plans with her to begin with and if they did, how much more insidious it was that they not only had someone who could get shot by several bullets and  _ live,  _ but was clearly close enough to Tony Stark that he trusted his daughter to be around him.

Conflicting emotions rush through her at the thought, gritting her teeth and trying to stop the wave of nausea churning about in her gut for how much pain Peter is clearly in.

He’d been shot multiple times, the image of the scarred, half-healed skin still coming to mind along with the knowledge that bullets were still lodged inside him - now getting who knows what being done to him. 

Peter’s screams are an awful, ugly sound - horrifying enough that Morgan feels sick to her stomach. There’s no telling who these people were or what their endgame was but Morgan knew that anyone who would be willing to kidnap a teenager and shoot someone without a second’s thought weren’t people to be messed with. 

Especially when confronted with someone like Peter, someone who despite whatever unfathomable agony they’re putting him through - he’s still very much alive. 

She hates the thought as it comes, being  _ grateful _ to hear his pain. But Morgan’s all too aware of what the alternative could be, forcing herself to be thankful for that. 

Peter was in an unimaginable amount of pain, another ear-splitting scream that makes her breath catch. 

But at least he was still alive. 

Morgan pulls herself into a sitting position and forces herself to think, running her mind through possible scenarios. 

_Megara_ was clearly out now - she’d showed her hand by beating the shit out the man in the suit, her knuckles still sore but the pain being worth it. There’s no way they would think she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself and for as stupid as it might be, Morgan can’t help but be pleased at that. 

The room itself is still windowless, her cell phone still gone and now her only weapons - the element of surprise and Peter’s super strength - are gone, Morgan absentmindedly wringing her hands together. 

There’s not much that she can do now in this dark room, the only thing she has in here being the mattress she’s on, the tray of food in front of her and—

Morgan sits up a little straighter, looking to the camera that was still pointed towards her. 

The light was still clicked off but Morgan didn’t trust it for a second, not just because Peter wasn’t around her to warn her differently but because she couldn’t take any more chances. She switches her body weight around so that she’s facing the food in a sitting position, hand brushing against the mattress in search of what she’s desperately hoping for. 

There’s an immediate relief that rushes through her when she feels it, holding back a smile as she stares down at the food in front of her. 

There’s a coil sticking up just underneath the mattress, never being more glad for the back pain she’s currently experiencing as she shifts her hand away from the mattress and towards the food - inspecting the soup with a disgusted sniff.

It didn’t look appetizing at all and was clearly cold now, but Morgan’s stomach grumbles betray her - the thought occurring to her that she hadn’t eaten much of her food however long ago at the diner. 

From the ache in her throat and the exhaustion she feels, it had to have been a few hours - though how long without a window to tell her, she didn’t know. The man in the suit had mentioned her father being difficult, so they were clearly in touch - but Morgan still had no idea who she was dealing with or what exactly they were after aside from something as stupid as a ransom. 

She wishes now she hadn’t so spitefully refused to wear the watch her father insisted upon her, the argument for privacy and autonomy falling flat now that she was in need of her dad’s weirdly overprotective tendencies. Yet if he was in communication with these clowns, there was a chance that he or FRIDAY were actively trying to pinpoint their location, another shrill cry from Peter sending a shiver down her spine - hoping that this rescue comes sooner rather than later. 

It makes her wonder if her dad knows about what Peter’s done - her own guilt at Peter trading himself for her conflicting with the knowledge of what her dad would do to these assholes once he found out what was happening to Peter.

Peter was almost thirty yet Morgan knew her father still saw him sometimes as the teenager Morgan actually was - a wave of shame rushing through her for the jealousy she feels even in this moment. 

Morgan shoves those thoughts aside for now, focused on the present and on the spoon in her hand - tapping it against the bowl to rid itself of the nasty lime-green looking slush that the soup looked like as she glances to the camera once more. 

The chances of them watching her were slim but not zero, Morgan debating with herself for a moment before making a show of pushing the food away from her - settling back down onto the mattress and turning her back towards the camera. 

She’s easily able to maneuver the spoon in her hand from one hand to the next, taking a few tentative, exaggerated breaths as before moving the edge of the spoon’s handle towards the fabric of the mattress over where the coil was.

It wasn’t the most effective tool but Morgan’s nothing if not imaginative, quietly using the spoon to try and pick at the pieces of frayed fabric that stand between her and any semblance of a useful weapon. 

The spoon itself would work but Morgan had bigger plans, using the spoon to her advantage as her mind works - Peter’s sharp cries causing her to stop in place.

She squeezes her eyes shut at the total agony she hears in his voice, gritting her teeth and wishing that she could block it out. She’s never heard Peter sound like this, her mind conjuring up awful images to depict what could possibly cause it. 

Morgan’s earliest memories revolve around Peter recovering in the medbay, doped up on pain meds and his arms and legs in various casts for however long they needed until his healing got to work.

But the sounds that he’s making now are earth-shattering, like nails on a chalkboard for how much it unnerves her to think of what awful things they could be doing to him to cause them - a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach filled with both dread, relief and immediate guilt that  _ she _ wasn’t on the receiving end of whatever it is. 

Morgan pushes that away too, forcing her eyes open as she grinds her teeth - working at the mattress once more as her plan continues to form. 

* * *

With Peter more or less occupying her kidnappers, Morgan’s left alone. 

It’s not the first time she’s ever been left alone or left behind - the feeling of envy that she would always shove away at seeing Peter rush off into some unknown battle against a faceless foe coming back to her memory. 

Her dad might not be a superhero anymore but Morgan was still constantly surrounded by them, Peter most of all. 

_ Peter _ was the one that she’d seen for most of her life, flinging himself into danger without a second’s thought - just as impulsive in life as he had been a few hours ago.

_ Peter _ was the one that she worried over, heart leaping into her throat anytime her dad would get a phone call in the middle of the night - huddling together with her mom, May and MJ as they waited to see what hell Peter had brought upon himself.

Peter was her annoying, reckless,  _ stupid  _ older brother all but in name - allowing herself the chance to think that if -  _ when _ \- they made it out of this, she’d kill him herself. 

Hours pass and yet Morgan isn’t bothered by any of them, her only companion being the terrible and haunting screams from Peter. 

Yet Morgan’s not sure what’s worse - the screams or the silence - Morgan’s heart racing when Peter’s agonized cries come to a sudden stop as she sits up. It’s at this time that the door opens, Morgan turning to see Idiot 1 -  _ Henry _ \- walk in with a scowl on his face. 

“What do you want?” She asks, beyond trying to play any kind of scenario and too pissed off otherwise. 

Henry makes a face, looking like he wants to throw a punch only to calm himself down - standing up straighter as he says, “Got someone who wants to talk to you, princess.” 

Morgan frowns, only for Randy to step in behind Henry - Morgan involuntarily taking a step back as Henry laughs. 

“Not him, though if we had our way—”

“But you don’t,” another voice calls out, the man in the pale suit returning, “remember who calls the shots here.”

Henry scowls once again as Randy moves out of the way, the man in that same awful suit walking to her with what looks like a satellite phone in his hand.

“Phone call for Miss Morgan Stark,” he says with a smile that Morgan doesn’t trust for a second, pinching her lips together as she glares at him.

He smiles at her patronizingly, handing the phone to her as he says, “Trust me. You’re gonna want to take this one.” 

She snatches it from him, glaring at him and having half a mind of hanging up and calling her dad - his, her mom’s and May’s being the only ones she’s ever committed to memory - only to think twice when Randy takes a step forward. 

She brings the phone to her ear as she croaks out, “Hello?”

“ _ Morgan _ ,” she hears her father’s voice on the other line, an immediate sense of relief that she hates herself for at hearing his voice as he asks, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

It still hurts to talk but Morgan gets the sense that telling the whole truth won’t bode well for her, glaring at the man in the suit as she says, “I’m fine.”

She hears a commotion on the other line, wondering if something as simple as stalling the phone call would be enough to trace it as she says, “Dad, I’m—”

“We’re getting you out of there, Mo. Don’t worry, I’m on my way. You’ll be safe.”

“Dad, they have Peter,” Morgan squeaks out, every word feeling like knives poking at her throat but needing to get this out - only to be completely thrown when she hears her father’s response.

“I know, I know sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m coming to get you. You’re gonna be okay—”

“That’s enough,” the man in the suit says, snatching the phone from Morgan before she can say anything more - confusion flowing through her at her dad’s choice of words. 

It was specific, something that Morgan’s smart enough to catch on to - the fact that he pinpointed on  _ her _ safety, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at what this could mean. 

That fear is only confirmed from the smarmy smile on the man’s face in front of her as he brings the phone to his ear and says, “You heard her. She’s alive. Do we have a deal?”

She doesn’t hear her dad’s response but it has to be positive for the way the man’s eyes light up, his smile widening so much more that he looks comical as he says, “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Tony. It’s been too long. We should get lunch, you and the missus. See you soon.”

He hangs up the phone, smirking down at Morgan who rasps out, “What’s going on?”

“What’s going  _ on _ is that daddy warbucks decided to give us a little trade. You,” the man says, pointing at her, “for your little protector.” 

Morgan’s stomach drops, her head involuntarily shaking as she fights against the tightness in her throat. 

“No,” she whispers hoarsely, wincing at how much it still hurts, “he wouldn’t—”

“He would and he did. You should be glad, Randy here’s not such a big fan of people who rough up the merchandise,” he says, motioning to his face - Morgan now noticing the poorly done makeup job to try and cover the bruises from where she’d walloped into him. Any pride she feels at that is gone now at the realization of what this man was telling her. 

“We got a few more loose ends but in a few hours, you’ll be a free woman,” the man says with another smile, turning away from her and walking to the door. Morgan swallows, only to wince again at how painful that is as he says, “Too bad about your friend though. I was wrong, it seems, of how close the two of you were. Or whoever he is to Tony Stark.”

The man turns back to her, winking as Morgan glares at him, “then again, what can truly come between a father’s love for his daughter?” 

Morgan is seething but her throat is screaming at her, on fire from what little exertion she’d given and hating not for the first time that she didn’t have the kind of super strength or super healing that would come in handy right about now. 

Yet a darker part of her is thankful for that, if only for the fact that her and Peter aren’t in the same position - immediately hating herself for even thinking such a thing as the man leaves. 

Henry glares at her once before he and Randy leave, the door shut as Morgan’s mind begins to race. 

It didn’t make sense to her, the idea that her dad would make any kind of trade - much less one that would put  _ Peter _ at risk. Morgan grew up on stories of the two of them and their adventures, Peter having undergone his own fair share of kidnappings and missions gone wrong between the two of them for as long as she could remember.

They were a  _ team _ \- the secret part of her that always wondered that if she was some kind of replacement for Peter bubbling up now to the surface in the cruelest of ways. 

In her darkest moments, something that she never would’ve admitted even if pressed, Morgan always assumed that when it came down to it - her dad would choose Peter over her.

She knew how much he loved Peter, how much he’d sacrificed for him - the unspoken yet understood truth that hung over her life.

That the Blip was a result of a potentially life ending act of desperation for her dad, the very thing that pushed him towards it the possibility of bringing Peter back.

Her dad had risked everything - risked her mom, risked  _ her _ \- for the chance to bring Peter back. To think that now that her dad would choose her over Peter was unfathomable. 

Yet his words on the phone and the demeanor of the pale suited idiot spoke a different tune, Peter’s agonizing cry causing her to jolt when she hears it - both relief and terror at hearing the sound once more. 

If the man in the suit was to be believed, her dad not only had successfully negotiated for her release but had only done so for  _ her _ \- clearly knowing that Peter was in danger and yet choosing her over him anyway. 

The guilt and the relief fall over her in equal measures, not just in the knowledge that her most secret, childish fears were disproven but the reality of what was in front of her. 

She should be objectively grateful that she was going to be sent back home, if this man was even to be believed - but all Morgan could feel was anger, frustration yet again that someone else had made yet another decision for her. 

Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to think that her dad didn’t already have a plan. He didn’t play well with others, much less with someone who threatened the people he loved. 

But whatever plan it was, it was yet another one that was made without her knowledge or in thinking of her as just part and parcel of the course - Morgan feeling the rage starting to swell up in her. 

First Peter, now her dad - Morgan was  _ done _ with being the damsel, bit part or not.

She glances to the camera once more, before moving back towards the pitiful mattress - turning once again to her back and working the coil out of it once more. She’s not sure how she’s going to get it detached from the mattress itself or if her half-baked plan would even work, but she has to do something. 

She grits her teeth, working the spoon once more to wedge between the coil itself and the springboard it was attached to.

Her dad and Peter clearly had made plans about her safety.

Morgan now had a plan of her own. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder once again to heed the tags. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. 
> 
> This is the “worse”

The plan goes into motion around the same time that they come for her. 

The coil was a bust, Morgan hating the fact that she’d spent so much time trying to get it out only for it to fail. But in doing so, she’d managed to bend the spoon at an odd angle, just twisted enough that it could be used in the fight that she’s currently planning.

Getting the coil out of the mattress might’ve been fruitless but it at least gave Morgan something to do, a goal to work towards as her mind ran through the possibilities. 

She didn’t know where she was, nor did she have any clue of how many people were involved - though from the looks of things she could at least count five people that had come in and out of the room that she was being held in. 

Wherever it was, the room was either blacked out or underground - getting the sense from the dampness of her location that it was likely the latter, not least of which because of the use of a satellite phone. 

Morgan knows that her dad had negotiated for her release, knows that wherever Peter is being held that he’s being tortured - the screams now being something she holds onto, only for how terrifying the long silences that follow are. 

She knows her dad has to have some kind of plan to get the two of them out but it still eats at her - the guilt and the relief that when it really came down to it, he chose _her_ first. 

Morgan hates herself for thinking it, hates herself even more that Peter had put himself in a position to be hurt in the first place - the thought finally occurring to her that maybe this is why he and MJ had broken up this time around. 

She’d known that things had been strained between the two of them after the last time MJ was put in danger, some idiot dressed up in a glorified Goblin suit snatching her out from the street and throwing her off the Brooklyn bridge. 

It was a fluke, a total _miracle_ that Peter was able to grab her on time - sending out web bombs to the Goblin man and throwing himself out after her, wrapping his arms around her before sending out a web to break their fall - ripping his own arm out of socket in the process. 

MJ was okay, just as Peter was - but the terror that Peter held in his eyes when they arrived at their penthouse was different enough that Morgan could see right through it, her current predicament giving her more of an understanding of what could possibly be going through Peter’s mind at breaking up with her for the thousandth time. 

It was the same look he’d had in his eyes when she’d been shot with whatever tranquilizer that put them here, complete and utter terror that someone he knew was being put in danger. Unlike MJ, Morgan’s problems were a result of her father’s sins - her very existence putting her in a position of danger anytime she stepped out the door. 

The fact that MJ had a choice and Morgan did not wasn’t lost on her but it was frustrating all the same, furious in a different way that Peter was just like her father yet again in making choices _for_ the people he claimed to love without consulting them about it. 

She may not like Johnny Storm but in this, Morgan can understand why Peter would want to hang out with him in any capacity - the fact that Johnny can take care of himself being proof positive that he’d never find himself in a situation like the one MJ or Morgan endured. 

She hates herself for thinking it, just as she knows that MJ would hate that she’s thinking of it that way - her own mother being an example, proving that you didn’t have to be a superhero to be powerful or strong. That you could choose to be in a person’s life, no matter the cost. 

That even if she wasn’t the one with super powers, she still had a chance of saving the day. 

Morgan takes a deep breath, letting that reminder propel her forward as the door swings open once again - steeling herself for what’s likely going to be the smartest or the stupidest thing she’s ever done. 

Morgan knows - rationally - the smart plan is to wait, see what her dad has in store before she attacks.

But Morgan’s a Stark. Waiting around for a plan was never going to be in her nature. 

“Your chariot awaits, Little Stark,” the man in the suit says, now dressed in a tacky grey one that’s just as ill-fitting as the one before it. Morgan wishes that her throat still didn’t feel like fire anytime she swallowed or she’d give him a piece of her mind, moving to stand and balling her hands into fists - keeping the spoon within her reach, safely hidden underneath her long sleeves just above her palm. 

Randy steps in, no doubt meant to be intimidating but any residual fear that Morgan has is just now turned into adrenaline - a pounding in her ears as her heartbeat works in double time. 

She walks towards the two of them, the man in the ugly grey suit now smiling at her like they were old friends as he extends a hand out - ushering her out of the dark room. 

It’s just as she expected, she’s underground in some kind of backroom of a basement - only to freeze when she sees who’s in front of her. 

“We’re a little short on time here—”

“What did you do to him?” Morgan hoarsely whispers, any fight that she has within her draining at seeing the state of Peter. 

He’s strapped up in a chair that reminds her of the dentist, a wave of nausea rushing over at how much blood has pooled underneath it - billowing out like the worst kind of art display. 

The bullet holes that Morgan had been so desperately afraid of now are unrecognizable from all the jagged cuts and scars, her stomach churning at the realization that they’d been dug out by force - long stripes of exposed skin and flesh making her want to vomit not just for how raw they were but for how brutal. 

Peter looks more flesh than human, the cuts all up along his sides, his legs and his arms deep enough that Morgan wonders if she’s staring at his corpse. 

But then she sees it, the short rise and sudden fall of his chest - a pained wheeze coming from him causing her to wince only for it to turn to surprise when Peter turns to her, the one eye that isn’t swollen shut from bruising blinking at her a few times before he garbles out, “M’rgan?”

Morgan goes to take a step forward only for Randy to put a rough hand on her shoulder, glaring at him only for the man in the suit to say, “Now, now. We have a deal. You for the freak. We wouldn’t want to disrupt our little experiment now would we?”

For as much as she’s her mother’s daughter - calm, considerate, a planner in most things in her life - there’s an undeniable streak of her father in her, the rage that she’d felt earlier rushing towards the surface. 

She’d wanted to get a better lay of the land, wanted to know just exactly what and _who_ she was dealing with before she put any kind of plan into action. But Morgan realizes right then and there that her and _Peter_ were all too similar too, any kind of forethought rushing out of her as instinct takes over.

All the lessons she’s ever had from Happy, all of the self-defense tactics that she’s learned from Uncle Rhodey and MJ, the fight or flight instinct that comes from living a life in a spotlight she’d never asked for flows through her then - Morgan loosening her grip on the spoon to take it in hand before swinging it straight for Randy’s eye the man yelling as she throws all her weight behind it. 

She kicks him hard in the balls as she does so, the man in the suit looking at her in shock as Randy staggers back in pain, Morgan launching herself onto him and tumbling him to the ground. 

“YOU—” He yells, Morgan curling her hands into fists and immediately pounding into him - blood rushing to her ears as she pummels into him. She knows this is stupid, _knows_ that she’s putting herself at risk for not making sure Randy is down but she’s pissed as hell - angry at the world that she was born into and the last name she has, angry that she’s subject to egos and overprotective self-sacrificing idiots that would make decisions for her. 

The man in the suit is weak but he’s still a grown adult, blocking one of her punches and throwing her off of him as Morgan quickly glances around for a weapon.

“M’rgan, don’t—” Peter weakly gasps, the leather straps that are holding him down proving to her that he willingly subjected himself to the torture they’d been put through as she rushes to him.

She’s yanked back by her hair, a pained scream coming out of her as thick fingers snarl through and knock her down - struggling against him only to see Randy’s bloody face looking down at her menacingly. It’s grotesque, the spoon sticking out of his eye but Morgan’s beyond caring - every single instinct of wanting to survive rushing forward as she starts scratching at him. 

The man in the suit is beginning to recover too, wiping his forearm against his face as he says, “What the hell? I was gonna let you _go_.”

Morgan’s pulled up from her hair, kicking and scratching at Randy who tries to control her - he moves quickly to bring a hand to her but Morgan’s prepared this time around, biting down hard at his hand which only causes him to scream, loosening his grip on her hair. 

She takes advantage of gravity, gritting her teeth as tears form in her eyes as she claws at Randy’s face once again, the man forcibly shoving her face away as she kicks at him. 

She’s pulled back from behind, her jaw hurting from the effort of squeezing down hard on Randy’s fingers - only to loosen when Randy swings at her with his other hand. 

“Don’t— don’t _touch_ her—” she hears Peter weakly gasp, hearing him struggle against the straps in his chair - a distant part of Morgan knowing that he has to be in serious pain to not be able to easily break through them. 

Morgan’s dizzy now from the hit to the head but her fight or flight instinct is still firmly settled on fight, pushing through the vertigo as best as she can as she struggles against the man in the suit. Every lesson that she’s ever been taught comes flooding back to her, grabbing at him from behind and pulling hard on his ears - swinging her legs back and forth to try and disrupt his sense of gravity.

It works, digging her nails into his earlobes and pulling _hard_ causing the man in the suit to cry out as Randy clutches at his bloody fingers, stumbling now forward. 

Morgan’s chest heaves as she and the man in the suit fall backwards, throwing her weight back as much as she can before stamping at his shins, his knees, anything she can to force him to let go of her.

He does, Morgan coughing as she scrambles away and towards Peter - quickly glancing around him and stomach lurching at how much worse he looks up close. 

It reminds her of the dissection class she hated in bio lab, barely holding back from vomiting up whatever was still in her stomach from how awful it was.

She can see straight to his bones in some places, skin cut so jaggedly and so deep that she wonders how he’d still _awake_ , much less alive. 

“Come on,” she whispers brokenly, every part of her thrumming with energy as her hands shake - from fear, from shock, or from adrenaline she doesn’t know as she quickly glances to the men behind her. 

Randy stumbles a few times but he’s slow and lethargic, Morgan beginning to wonder if the stab wound to his eye was starting to catch up to him but knowing that she’s not out of the woods yet - the man in the suit starting to push himself up as she works to unstrap Peter. 

“M’rgan,” Peter wheezes, her heart leaping up to her throat at how awful he looks and he sounds, not accounting for _this_ to be part of her escape plan.

She hadn’t planned on him being this hurt, nor does she think she’s ever seen this - forcing herself to swallow down the painful feeling in her throat as she unbuckles one of the straps.

It was worse than even what she had imagined, wincing as she unfolds the strap from Peter’s arm only to see the skin that wasn’t torn to shreds so raw from being held down, it makes her wonder just how much self-control Peter actually has.

Flimsy leather straps would never be enough to hold him, not even wounded and especially without the use of any kind of drugs. 

This was all Peter - _choosing_ to be here in her stead, another sick feeling forming in her gut in wondering if Peter knew what her dad had chosen as well. 

She’s thrown out of her thoughts from a massive boom from above, the ceiling above her shaking as she braces herself against Peter frantically looking at him and then towards the men on the floor.

Randy looks out of it but the man in the suit looks up confused, hope thrumming in her chest at the possibility that help was on its way. 

Help arrives but not the person that she’s expecting, the wooden stairway that led aboveground blasted into a fiery heap - Johnny Storm flying in and destroying the door and the stairs in the process.

“What the—” the man in the suit mutters as Johnny seems to scan the room, Morgan seeing the way his eyes widen at seeing her and Peter only to harden when he turns his attention to Randy and the suit guy. 

Randy immediately flies forward, still engulfed in flames as he scorches the leg of the man in the suit - Morgan frozen in place as he cries out. Randy seems to come alive at that, moving to stand even more only for Johnny to punch him across the face, his hand flaming in and out and the force of it from flying towards him knocking Randy out cold.

The man in the suit is still screaming from the burns across his leg, only for Johnny to land on his feet and sneer at him. 

“Who the hell are—”

“Shut _up_ ,” he says before punching him out too, the fire that surrounds him extinguishing in a way that even Morgan in her terrified, adrenaline-fueled state can’t help but think is cool. 

He turns to Morgan and Peter then, a determined look on his face as he walks towards her and asks, “Are you okay?”

She nods, turning to Peter as she hoarsely says, “Peter needs help.”

Morgan just barely catches the way Johnny’s face fall as he walks up beside her, no doubt a mirror of the terror that she feels for how badly Peter’s injured as Peter coughs again - throat constricting not from pain but from the trickle of blood that comes up.

“Hey spidey, you having a party without me?” Johnny whispers, eyebrows furrowing in concern only for them to smoothen - the classic Storm charm that Morgan would hate in any other instance but could kiss him now for how easily he’d taken out the men on the ground, turning her attention back to Peter as he lets out a garbled laugh.

“Get bent, Johnny,” Peter wheezes only to couch, closing his eyes in clear pain as Morgan winces. 

“Come on, let’s get you guys out of here. Stark’s gonna be pissed,” he says, Morgan turning to him in confusion.

“He’s not here?” She asks, her throat _screaming_ at her in pain for how much she’s used it - much less the pain she’s feeling everywhere as the adrenaline starts to seep out of her.

Johnny looks mildly uncomfortable at that, quickly glancing from Peter to her before quickly shaking his head as he says, “He’s at the drop point, waiting for you. But it doesn’t matter now,” he says, looking to Peter who has the audacity to actually nod back at him, “I got you guys. We’re gonna get out of here.” 

Morgan has a dozen questions but is too exhausted and too relieved to argue, never feeling more thankful now for Johnny Storm’s presence in her and Peter’s life than in this very moment. The irony of her earlier wish back in the diner is not lost on her, the very same person she would’ve liked to have never met now being the person she’s the most thankful for. 

Especially if, Morgan thinks as the two of them work to remove the straps from Peter and gently pick him up from the chair - her stomach rolling around with dread for how limp and broken Peter is - her dad was actually going through with whatever plan or bargain that he’d made with the man in the suit.

Morgan doesn’t know what it is or what exactly led to this point yet, but she can’t bring herself to care - running her arm underneath Peter’s as her and Johnny lift him up and bring him to a stand, limping forward with the knowledge that they’ll both be headed home. 

Only for that relief to be immediately replaced with fear when Peter stumbles before going completely limp, the three of them almost falling to the floor had it not been for Johnny holding him up.

“Pete?” Morgan whispers, Johnny’s eyes widening even more as he shifts so that he’s almost carrying Peter.

“Spidey? Peter, come on man. Come on, look at me.”

Peter’s boneless now in their arms, Morgan’s own heart feeling like it’s going to hammer out of her chest for how Peter looks now - eyes swollen shut and his skin a ghostly pale as he slumps forward, Johnny and Morgan trying and failing to wake him up.

“No, no, no, come on Pete. Come on,” Johnny whispers, his voice shaking in clear terror - just enough to make Morgan want to panic, a dark part of her wondering if all her plans had all been for nothing.

The fear never leaves as she chokes back a sob, hands bloody and shaking as Johnny works to try and resuscitate Peter - an overwhelming sense of dread washing over her as Morgan stares at him in horror. 

He’d subjected himself to however much pain and trouble for _her_ , the straps that he could so easily have broken now mocking her when she realizes that he endured all of that within reach of her to make sure that she’d be safe, holding on it seems until he knew now with Johnny there - that she would be. 

Morgan feels like she’s going to be sick yet again, Johnny’s frantic whispers fading into the background as she stares at her shaking, bloody hands. 

Despite the fight that she’d endured, all the pain Peter had clearly gone through - it wouldn’t matter at all if Peter didn’t make it home.

Hearing Johnny’s frantic whispers turn into a panicked yell, Peter’s eyes closed and body unmoving except for how much Johnny is shaking him - Morgan can’t help but fear that she’d be going home alone after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter on Monday! Will Peter make it till then?
> 
> ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Morgan wrings her hands over and over again, the adrenaline that had pushed her to fight now completely depleted. But she refuses to fall asleep, moving her hands and pinching at her skin, because of what she’s afraid that she’ll see when she closes her eyes - the living nightmare of seeing Peter fall to the ground running in a loop over and over again.

She was on some kind of jet, spots in her memory for how exactly she got there even if she can feel a shock blanket draped over here. From the quiet whispers in the background and the appearance of Johnny, it has to be the Four or close enough - this being proven to her when Sue Storm is suddenly in front of her.

“Hi Morgan, it’s Sue. You remember me?”

Morgan nods, or maybe she’s still shaking - forcing herself to look at Sue’s brown eyes and her long braids, to focus on her kind smile and the warmth she exudes and not anywhere else as she tries to swallow. Her throat still feels like it’s on fire and the muscles in her arms and legs ache from overuse but Morgan’s glad for the pain. 

It keeps her awake. It helps her not to think about where Peter is.

It helps not to think about _what_ Peter is. 

“We’re coming up to the Avengers compound now,” Sue’s warm and gentle voice cuts through the guilt swirling around in Morgan’s mind, like a fog that she can’t see through, “I know there’s a couple of people there who can’t wait to see you.”

Morgan nods, a politeness instilled into her from years of growing up with the kind but determined influence of her mother rushing back to her as she tries to muster up a smile.

But the action is a mistake because Morgan doesn’t just see Sue but a glimpse of Peter, Johnny holding on to the mangled piece of flesh that was one of his hands and staring at him with a look that Morgan could only identify as being one of fear. 

She’d made it a point of not knowing much about Johnny Storm beyond what she absolutely had to - scrolling through social media in disgust anytime she would see him and Peter gallivanting across the city together. Johnny was brash, careless, reckless - one of the very few things her and her dad ever instantly agreed upon being that he was a complete and total idiot. 

Yet there he is in front of her, looking more terrified than she thinks she’s ever seen and it’s enough for her breath to hitch - her lungs feeling like they weren’t able to fully expand as Sue tries to bring her attention back to her. 

“Morgan? Morgan, this is Sue. You’re okay. You’re on our jet. We’re almost there.”

Sue continues to talk but Morgan doesn’t hear it anymore, her voice fading out as the rest of the world does - the only sensation she’s aware of is how much her hands are shaking as her mind begins to race. 

Peter was… Peter was _dead._ He was dead and it was her fault. Her fault for not being superpowered. Her fault for being foolishly and fragile and human. Her fault for going to lunch with him rather than ditching like she’d plan. Her fault for existing.

In a cruel twist of irony, Morgan wishes that stupid and childish whim of wanting to undo the Blip was real. At least then, Peter had died with half the universe. At least then, her own dad hadn’t traded him to save her - knowing now that he’d never be able to live with himself, much look at her, without knowing what he’d done. 

Morgan’s hands can’t stop shaking, she can’t focus on anything else - her own lungs working against her until she gentle hands that she would recognize anywhere are all around her, bursting into tears when she inhales the scent of the same apple shampoo that she’s grown to associate with love, and peace, and warmth. 

“Sweetheart,” her mom whispers, Morgan blinking a few times before her eyes refocus - her mother’s blue eyes like an ocean she never wants to come up from. 

Morgan’s sobs echo out from her lungs, feeling like she’s going to burst from how little she can breathe as her mother envelops her in her arms - Morgan’s whole chest shaking as she wraps her arms around her. 

She’s crying so hard that it aches - even more so because of the stabbing sensation she feels anytime she tries to gulp in another breath.

Morgan is safe now, she _knows_ she’s safe now and it’s as if everything she’s been through in the span of however many hours is finally catching up to her - compacted with the knowledge that _she_ was the cause for all of it to begin with.

A distant part of her isn’t surprised when she feels something like a pinprick against her arm, followed by a cooling sensation that travels quickly through the rest of her body.

It’s numbing, like there’s no sensation or feeling left in any of her limbs - her shoulders stuttering until they come to a stop, the last thing she remembers being her mother’s gentle voice and her gentle hands rifling through her hair. 

* * *

When Morgan wakes up, for a brief moment she forgets where she is. 

She can hear something that sounds like rhythmic beeping off in the distance, only to hear it grow louder and louder - warm hands suddenly intertwined with hers on either side.

Morgan’s mind feels like it’s trying to work against wet cement, as if there was some unimaginable weight placed upon her - working hard to open her eyes only to hear her mom whisper, “Don’t fight it, sweetheart. It’s okay. We’re here.” 

She knows who the “we” is without even having to open her eyes - her mother’s soft hands contrasted with the rough ones on her father on the other side of her, hearing him clear his throat before he says, “We’re _right_ here, Morgan. You hear me? We’re right here with you.” 

Morgan twitches her head away from the sound, knowing she’s upset but her mind not connecting the dots as to why for the briefest second before it all comes rushing back to her. 

Peter getting shot. The damp and dark room. Peter in the chair. Peter slumping over—

She hears the beeping start to intensify just as she feels the grips in her hands growing tighter, forcing her eyes open only for her vision to go blurry as soon as she does. She can feel the oxygen mask strapped to her face now but despite the rush of it, it feels like she’s choking again - her throat still raw and on fire either from sense memory or practicality as she closes her eyes again, forcibly pushing her head back. 

She hears her dad call for a nurse, her mom’s gentle whispers next to her trying to reassure her. But all Morgan can fixate on is the images running in a loop in her mind - of hands wrapping around her neck as they choked her, of the horrifying sounds that Peter made while she was alone, of how he’d looked on the jet coming home, dead on the table while she was still here. 

Morgan feels the cooling sensation again, something pulling her down under waves and waves of darkness threatening to calm her down. She wants to fight against it, she wants to _feel_ again - only to wonder if the only thing she’s capable of feeling now is the unfathomable ache in her chest at the idea of what a life without Peter would be like now.

Morgan doesn’t get the chance to make sense of it anymore before she’s pulled back into the deep. 

* * *

Morgan was well acquainted with the recovery process. 

She’d learned all about the stages of grief, of rehabilitation, of trauma and stress and PTSD. In a fit of morbid humor, her friends would constantly send her pictures of her dad when they came across him in their textbooks as the literal definition of PTSD - videos of antics long before she was born still used as fodder for the gutter of the internet, the risk he’d taken to save the universe now being just another chapter forever memed as part of the long and illustrious life of Tony Stark. 

She’s been to her fair share of therapy, and has seen - on more times than she count - the inside of a medbay as she watched Peter recover. 

Yet this is an entirely new sensation for her, to be the _subject_ that everyone delicately tiptoes around - wondering for a brief moment if all her inward complaining about being forgotten in a family full of greatness was something that she really should’ve hated, considering her current alternative.

Now it was as if she couldn’t _breathe_ without her mom or her dad around her, the latter even more so - Morgan avoiding his gaze as much as she possibly could, even if she could catch the hurt expression out of the corner of her eyes. 

It hurt too much to look at him, knowing what she did - much less to try and wrestle with the anger and the guilt that she feels in acknowledging it. Especially now that she knows the full story.

It was just as she suspected, the horrible truth she hadn’t wanted to accept yet was proved to her by the appearance of _Johnny_ in that terrible place and not her father.

He’d accepted the terms of her kidnappers, old business associates that Morgan refused to know the name of if only because it would force her to talk to her dad for more than five minutes - feeling as if it would be easier to push it away if she didn’t.

Morgan was at least self-aware enough, even in her agony, to know that wasn’t true. But she wasn’t ready to fully process what she’d gone through and Amaya, her therapist, was good enough to recognize that. 

Her dad had chosen her over Peter - plain and simple, something that even now Morgan knows she should be objectively thankful for and was, but also unable to comprehend. 

Any moment that he wasn’t at her bedside, he was likely at Peter’s - catching her parents worried glances anytime they walked in. 

The doctors in the medbay had attached some ridiculous brace around her neck and had recommended against talking - the constant scans and tests for her airway making the tightness she felt in her chest all the more understandable. The doctors droned on about the recovery process, how lucky Morgan was that she was alive and that her prognosis looked good for the most part. 

Anytime they did, Morgan couldn’t help but think back to Peter and his injuries - a long running list that made her stomach churn so much that she could barely stand it. 

A broken clavicle and three cracked ribs. Skull fractures and a broken cheekbone. Slit wrists and haphazardly sewn together skin - the needles still half-embedded in his skin until they were taken out in one of the dozens of surgeries he’s had since they returned. His hips were dislocated, every bone in his right leg shattered and the toes of his left broken. Peter hadn’t been stabbed so much as cut into pieces, so much skin removed that the whole top layer had to be regrown and regenerated in the Cradle. 

It was a nightmare but it was one that Morgan couldn’t help but fixate on - any relief she had in Peter being alive completely gone when she thought of what kind of life that he would lead to begin with. Her doctors noted their relief that she didn’t have any kind of permanent damage to her spine, her brain or her lungs but Peter had yet to wake up - Morgan desperately wanting to find out if he would but also unsure if she truly wanted to know the answer. 

It didn’t help that her dad hovered, almost suffocatingly so - everything in her wanting to tell him off for choosing her even if rationally, she knew it was the only choice he could’ve made. 

He was supposed to ensure her safety, getting over his grudge with Johnny Storm and the Fantastic Four so that they could retrieve Peter.

Peter could heal from anything. Morgan could not. 

Yet as the days passed by, holed up in a medbay hospital room with Peter still unconscious and with no sign of waking - Morgan wasn’t sure much that declaration could be held true. 

* * *

It’s not until another week has passed, the neck brace removed but Morgan’s neck and chest still feeling like she’s been hit by a truck that she starts to get antsy. 

Sensing Morgan’s guilt or maybe or her annoyance, her dad’s finally taken to spending more time in Peter’s room - something that Morgan doesn’t like to think about for all the things she still can’t reconcile with herself.

It’s a churning in her gut, her worst fears come to life - the thing that she’d so deeply and secretly wondered since she was a little girl now proving untrue but in a way that makes her not sure if she’s ready to live the consequences.

Her dad chose _her_ \- because Peter could heal, because Morgan is _normal_ \- but if Peter didn’t wake up, Morgan’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to live with herself. Much less the fear that her dad will never be able to look at her ever again without feeling resentment for the choice he didn’t make.

It’s a feeling that her mom seems to sense but is unsuccessful in convincing her otherwise, Morgan clamping her mouth shut and pretending that she was in pain to stop the conversation from going any further.

She _was_ in pain - nearly getting choked to death and then getting into an ill-advised fight with an old business nemesis of her dad being enough to give her some credibility. But even if her mom knew what she was doing, she let it go for now - guessing that it wouldn’t be long before that wouldn’t work anymore.

It’s not till Johnny comes by to visit that Morgan wishes she hadn’t played up the pain aspect - knowing it would be suspicious as hell to try and get moved back to their penthouse as soon as Johnny walks in.

“Hey,” he says, smiling as he waves. “How you feeling?”

Morgan narrows her eyes, conflicting emotions running through her. Objectively, she still didn’t like him. But Morgan wasn’t stupid - she’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him. Peter absolutely so.

She could give him the common courtesy of small talk.

“Fine,” she says, Johnny taking her response as permission to come in. “How are you?”

“Oh me? I’m fine. Not a scratch on old Johnny Storm,” he says with a smile, nodding to the chair next to her. 

Morgan nods in return, Johnny coming up to sit beside her as he whistles - glancing around the room, “Nice digs. Would’ve thought you’d be back at home by now though?”

Morgan tries to shrug only to wince when she does, still feeling a little sore as Johnny’s eyebrows raise in concern. 

“Normal people take awhile to heal. Plus with Pete—“ 

She cuts herself off, catching the clouded expression on Johnny’s face as she turns away - hating that she can already feel tears forming at the thought.

Morgan knew Peter was in a room not too far away from her, but she hadn’t gone to see him - too wracked with guilt at even wanting to lay an eye on him, much less have to see her dad stress by Peter’s bedside. It was patently ridiculous to still feel any shred of jealousy, if that’s even what it was, but Morgan didn’t trust herself regardless. 

She especially didn’t want to think about the precarious position Peter was in today - knowing May and MJ were coming by again to see him as soon as they were both off work, now both just as acclimated to the kind of hellish experience that involved loving Peter Parker long before Morgan had ever been born.

She’s grown up being a waiting woman at a hero’s bedside but she doesn’t hate it any less - just as she recognizes May, MJ and even her own mom would dissuade her from thinking of herself in such a derivative way. 

And yet there it was - Morgan had tried to be the hero and _lost_ , not just for the pain that she feels across her neck and her chest but because Peter was unconscious - thinking that the _Megara_ plan had ironically still been put into place, considering the state of Hercules at the end of that old movie.

But this wasn’t a movie and while Peter was a superhero but not a god, still unconscious without any certainty that he’d wake up while the people he loved waited around for something that may not come.

“You need anything?”

Johnny’s question throws her out of her thoughts, turning back to him and shaking her head as gently as she could when he runs his hands over his thighs.

“Just wanted to check in on you. You were tough, back there you know? Sorry it took so long for me to come around.”

“You’re the Human Torch. You’re busy,” Morgan deadpans, Johnny laughing as he runs a hand through his dreads. 

“Yeah I am, but still. Didn’t want you to think I ditched you, not after the ass kicking you gave that asshole Hammer.”

“Was that his name?” Morgan asks, Johnny nodding as he brings his hand down.

“Yeah. A has-been gone wild I guess. Your dad was pissed but,” Johnny shrugs, “the Four been working with the DA to see if we can get something beyond just kidnapping. Perks of being a government shill and all.”

“You have?” She asks, Johnny smiling at her as he says, “Well yeah. We take our jobs seriously.”

“I thought you dealt with more… magical stuff.”

Johnny laughs again, seeing the dimples in his cheeks and getting for a half-second why Peter liked being around him only to quickly shove that down as he says, “That’s more Doctor Strange but… yeah. Magical beings, aliens, basically anything SHIELD thinks is weird. We get involved.”

Johnny wrings his hands together, answering the question before Morgan can ask it as he says, “Kidnapping isn’t usually what we do, but we had to.”

“For Peter,” Morgan offers, Johnny’s eyes snapping up to hers before a solemn expression forms across his face.

“And for you, Morgan. Your dad—“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quickly, because she doesn’t - with anyone, much less _Johnny Storm_.

Unlike her mother, Johnny doesn’t push it at all, nodding before sliding his hands over his jeans before going to stand.

“That’s okay. I just wanted to check in on you. See how you were feeling.” He walks a little towards the door before turning back to her. “You really kicked ass, Morgan.”

“Thanks,” she says, the words out of her mouth before she can stop them, “MJ taught me.”

Johnny looks amused at that, as if he could see right through her as she quickly says, “Happy too. And my Uncle Rhodey. But you know.”

“I do,” Johnny says with a smile, shoving his hands in his pocket. “MJ’s pretty great.”

“She is,” Morgan says carefully, any assumptions she had about what Johnny’s relationship was with Peter falling to pieces considering his tone. There’s no malice in it, no sense of jealousy or anger - Morgan going to say something more when he beats her to it and says, “She’s coming by today right? To see Pete?”

“Yeah.”

“Have _you_ seen him?”

Morgan freezes - a small voice whispering in the back of her mind that maybe this was some kind of ploy from her dad considering how much she’d avoided doing just that, only to shove that away as ridiculous considering Tony disliked Johnny almost as much as she did. 

“No,” Morgan answers honestly, Johnny smiling sympathetically at her as she says, “I can’t.”

“I uh, haven’t seen him either. Not since…” he trails off, Morgan’s mind providing the memory of how he looked on that table in their jet. Johnny looks as if he’s sent back there too, coughing a few times before saying, “Anyway. If you want, we could go together?”

Morgan’s eyes snap back up to him, Johnny looking more vulnerable than she thinks she’s ever seen the Human Torch look before as he says, “If you want. Are you… allowed to leave?”

Morgan rolls her eyes, moving the covers off of her and swinging her legs over the bed. “Of course I am.”

She both did and didn’t want to see Peter but she also didn’t like the idea of Johnny seeing Peter on his own for some unexplainable reason - guessing that if her dad knew Johnny was around, he might’ve made himself scarce.

This might be the only chance she gets, at least not without having to face the double dose of guilt of being around her dad would be like. 

Johnny laughs again, Morgan giving a small smile despite herself as he nods towards the door.

“Alright then. Lead the way.”

* * *

The walk to where Peter being held is quiet, which Morgan is fine with considering the rush of anxiety she feels as they make their way closer and closer to where he is.

Peter has a usual room at the compound’s medbay but apparently his injuries are still so severe that he’s being held in the equivalent of an ICU - complete with glass doors and windows to look in on him like a creep, or at least that’s what Morgan thinks as they get closer to it. 

When when they walk out of the elevator and towards where Peter’s room is, Morgan freezes - just barely catching a glimpse of Michelle’s curly hair stepping into the room. Johnny stops because she does, turning to her and asking, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice shaking a little. “I didn’t— I thought MJ was gonna be here later.”

Johnny looks up, apparently having missed her walking in before turning back to Morgan and saying, “You wanna wait out here then? Till she comes back out?”

Morgan nods silently, the two of them walking to the little decorative bench just outside of where Peter was - glad now for her dad’s idiosyncratic ideas of compound decoration and remodeling that led to them having a place to sit.

From here she can see both MJ and May by Peter’s bedside, Morgan’s heart leaping up to her throat at how awful he still looks even from here.

He still has oxygen or a ventilator connected to him, she can’t tell from this angle except for the long wires and the delicate way May leans over to him - her back to them as her and MJ both sit.

Morgan and Johnny sit in silence, Morgan watching as MJ’s lips move before she looks at Peter with an expression that twists up Morgan’s insides - wondering now if MJ would ever be able to look at her the same way again too if Peter didn’t wake up.

“They’re good together, aren’t they?” Johnny asks, Morgan blinking a few times and looking back to him in confusion.

Johnny’s eyes are focused on MJ and Peter, an unreadable expression on his face as she watches him force a smile. 

“Yeah, they are,” Morgan answers but with none of the malice she would’ve had a few weeks ago as she stares at him. 

Morgan doesn’t have a lot of relationship experience but she’s grown up surrounded by people in love. Her parents. Peter and MJ. Uncle Rhodey and Aunt Carol.

Yet she’s struck with the realization straight in her chest at seeing the way Johnny looks at Peter and MJ - remembering what Johnny had looked like when he saw Peter in that basement or on the jet coming home.

She may not have a lot of experience but she knows what love looks like. And it’s unmistakable from the tightness in Johnny’s eyes and the grim smile on his face that he is absolutely in love with Peter. 

“They’ll figure it out,” Johnny says, swallowing something down in his throat before looking back to Morgan - still reeling from the realization she’s having as he smiles, “they always do.”

She can tell his smile doesn’t reach his eyes just as she’s sure of her own observation being true - the inimitable influence of having Tony Stark’s blood flowing in her veins and growing up in MJ’s orbit once again propelling her forward as she asks, “Does he know?”

“Hmm?”

“Does he know?” Morgan repeats, eyes searching his face before locking on his brown eyes. 

Johnny Storm is many things from all Morgan has ever read or seen or watched. But stupid it seems, is not one of them - picking up on her meaning as he half-grins, half-laughs.

“Can’t get anything past a Stark huh?”

Morgan doesn’t answer, not until she finds out the truth - a trick she’s learned from MJ even if it doesn’t seem necessary as Johnny replies, “No. And I plan on keeping it that way.”

Morgan is silent now not for some kind of interrogation tactic but out of shock, the assumptions and ideas she had about Johnny all crumbling down as he looks back to where Peter, May and MJ all were.

“He loves her,” Johnny whispers, Morgan watching as his eyes soften before he smiles, “it’s always been them you know? Even back in college. Back and forth and back again.”

Johnny shakes his head, running his hand through his dreads again before he shakes them out - bringing his hand down with a determined look on his face as he stares at them and says, “But they always find their way back to each other. Like… like fate you know?”

“MJ says fate doesn’t exist,” Morgan says, her brain and her tongue finally working in tandem as Johnny laughs, nodding his head as she continues, “that people just use that as an excuse to not take responsibility for their own choices.”

“Yeah, that sounds like MJ,” Johnny says with a wry smile, turning back to Morgan with a look that she can only describe as incredibly sad, resigned and at peace all at the same time. “But he’s made his.”

He looks back to Peter, Morgan feeling an unexplainable lump in her throat that has nothing to do with her injury as he whispers, “I’m not gonna try and change that.”

It hits her just how wrong she’s been about Johnny - his influence on Peter’s life and the kind of person he is - so clearly in love with him yet willing not to say a word and mess up something that is in Morgan’s eyes, one of the most objectively good things in Peter’s life. 

For as much as she loves MJ and loves the two of them together, she can’t help but feel a surge of admiration for Johnny - so willing to be a friend to Peter despite his feelings, thinking this was a love she couldn’t ever hope to understand nor would want to.

She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not just for the lump in her throat but for the soreness from talking so much still - choosing instead to gently rest a hand against his shoulder.

Johnny looks surprised by pleased, smiling at her once before nodding.

Morgan’s not sure if they’ll ever be friends per se, she can’t throw away years of antics and crazy stories between Peter and Johnny getting themselves into trouble in one day.

But she does have a greater respect for him, feeling just a bit more relaxed as she brings her hand down and looks back to Peter - waiting in comfortable silence until they can visit him. 

* * *

It’s not long before MJ spots them, Morgan feeling a weight in her chest having nothing to do with the pain she feels when she steps out of the room and heads toward the two of them.

“Hey Short Stack,” she says affectionately, Morgan wanting to cry at her childhood nickname - given from the pancakes she used to be obsessed with - when MJ turns to Johnny and says, “Hey J.”

Morgan stands, going to give MJ a hug that she freely returns as Johnny replies, “Hey MJ. How’s he doing?”

She feels MJ sigh into the hug, Morgan releasing her from it and seeing the grim smile on her face.

“Not as bad as he was yesterday,” she says, Morgan searching for the hidden meaning when she continues, “not as good as he could be.”

MJ shrugs but there’s no flippancy to it - Morgan knowing from a lifetime of being around her of how tense she is when she says, “He’s hanging in there.”

“He’ll be okay,” Johnny says with so much certainty that Morgan wants to believe it, MJ smiling at him before turning her attention back to Morgan.

“You wanna come in?”

Morgan shakes her head quickly, a little too quickly as she winces and says, “No I can wait.”

“I’m sure he’d love to hear from you. Doctor Michaels said his scans are picking up a lot of activity. He’ll be able to hear you, under everything,” MJ gently prods, recognizing MJ wouldn’t push her to do something she doesn’t want to but knowing what she wants Morgan to do all the same.

“We can come back later. If you and May—“

“What May needs is some coffee,” another voice rings out, the three of them turning to see May’s tired smile from the door’s entryway. 

She steps out of Peter’s room, only to nod down the hallway and say, “Wanna join?”

“Sounds great,” MJ says, “I need a good pick me up. Wonder if Tony finally got a new shipment of that oolong.” 

The two of them turn to leave, May looking back to Morgan and Johnny meaningfully before saying, “See you in a bit, Mo. Johnny.”

Johnny does a stupid little wave that despite her newfound admiration of him still bothers her, thinking that old habits really do die hard only for her stomach to drop as May and MJ make their way down the hallway - Morgan’s eyes set on the door leading to Peter’s room in the first place. 

It’s not until she feels Johnny’s gentle and warm hand on her shoulder, turning to look at him as he smiles and asks, “You ready?”

Morgan nods, taking the first steps towards Peter’s room with a courage she doesn’t feel - only for all of it to fall away as soon as she sees Peter again for the first time. 

It’s been a little over two weeks since they’ve been rescued and yet Peter still looks just as bad as he had on the jet. It takes the wind out of her, even despite her current issues in taking a full breath, to see Peter still so objectively hurt. 

She can feel Johnny move behind her till he carefully steps towards his bedside, Morgan moving on auto-pilot as she walks to the other side. 

Peter’s more wires than person at this point, his arms and his legs all bandaged up from the skin grafts and the surgeries he’d undergone - the bruising on his face thankfully having gone down enough that his face at least didn’t look as bad as it had the last time she’d seen him. 

He’s also _not_ connected to a ventilator now that she can see him, Morgan hating her life that she even knows that that’s a good thing - balling her hands into fists only to release them when Johnny quietly says, “Hey Pete.” 

Morgan deflates, eyes still on Peter as Johnny continues, “You’re missing a hell of a party out there. Rhino’s been having a field day without you. Don’t worry though, Ben and I got it covered.”

Johnny huffs out a little laugh, Morgan finally looking up at him and seeing the smile on his face - talking to Peter as if he was fully capable of responding when he says, “Well, more Ben than me but you know how it goes.”

Johnny keeps chattering but Morgan tunes it out, looking back to Peter and forcing herself not to cry. 

All of her worst memories involve someone being in a medbay - her earliest being her dad when he saved the universe but all of the rest revolving around Peter. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him _this_ far gone, though it hits her now that she couldn’t even say that for certain. For as much kidnapping prep and self-defense tactics she’d ever been taught, there’s a recognition that occurs to her that maybe the people in her life had treated her with the kind of kid gloves she would resent if it didn’t mean so much to her, May and MJ leaving serving as a reminder of that. 

It didn’t make sense for either of them to leave Peter’s bedside so soon since they just got there, unless they _knew_ Morgan hadn’t been around to see him - glancing up to Johnny and wondering again if this was some kind of ploy. 

That’s promptly thrown out of her thoughts when she hears rushed footsteps behind her, turning to see her dad step into the room as the door slides open - out of breath as he huffs out, “Morgan.”

“Yeah?” She asks, Johnny going quiet as her dad’s eyes shift from Peter, to Johnny and then back to her. 

“I went by your room and you weren’t there. FRIDAY said you were but you hadn’t--” he cuts himself off, glancing to Johnny once again before his expression turns into a mix of a grimace and a smile as he says, “Storm.”

“Stark,” Johnny says teasingly, Morgan holding back a laugh. “You good?”

Her dad stands a little straighter, squinting at him before his features relax when he turns back to Morgan and says, “Yeah, yeah of course. It’s all good. You okay, Mo?”

Morgan nods, the uncomfortable feeling and guilt crawling back over her as she shifts her weight back and forth. She turns away from him and back to Peter as she says, “I’m fine.”

She can guess that Johnny and her dad are having some kind of silent conversation from the way Johnny looks out of the corner of her eye but Morgan’s focused on Peter - unsurprised when Johnny says, “I’m actually really craving some tea too. You think MJ would share?”

“Not a chance,” her dad says instantaneously, Johnny laughing as he says, “Fair enough. I’m sure you got something around here I like.”

Her dad mutters something unintelligible but Morgan now just feels a little annoyed - how quickly her dad had managed to find himself in the same room with just her, wishing her mom was around even if she knew she still had SI business to take care of. 

“It was nice seeing you, Morgan.” She turns to Johnny only for him to do that silly little wave again, Morgan smiling despite herself as she does it back - Johnny’s smile widening and his dimples deeping as he does so. 

As soon as Johnny leaves the room, the quiet save for the rhythmic beeping of Peter’s heart monitor almost stifling - Morgan sitting down unceremoniously in the chair that May had occupied a few moments ago as her dad walks to where both Johnny and MJ had been before. 

She knows a conversation is not only inevitable but unavoidable at this point, beating him to the punch when she says, “He looks terrible.”

Her dad lets out a mix of a cough and a laugh, Morgan forcing herself to look at him and seeing just how exhausted he looks as he says, “You hear that Pete? You’re slacking in the looks departments these days. Better shape up soon.”

The joke falls flat, just as Morgan just stares at him until he finally looks at her - feeling a flood of emotions rushing through her and unsure of which one is the strongest until the tears start welling up in her eyes. 

“Morgan—” 

“ _You_ did this to him,” she says, chin trembling before forcing herself to grit her teeth - seeing the wrecked expression pass over her dad’s face. “You… you _let_ them do this to him.” 

“Morgan—”

“Why? Why didn’t you just…” Morgan doesn’t even know what she wants to argue, the rationality that had been instilled in her since her earliest moments making themselves known in the most uncomfortable of ways. 

Peter looked like he was barely past death’s door but if the situation were reversed, there was no doubt about it. Morgan would be _dead_ , a painful feeling in her chest and thinking of what that would do to her mom, to her dad, to MJ or Peter or anyone else who knew her. 

Morgan knew from a lifetime of sitting by the sidelines that it didn’t matter the reason - the fear that came with the possibility of losing someone you loved was never any less terrifying. 

“It’s all my fault,” Morgan whispers, her voice wobbling and her father’s eyes widening as he moves to stand. 

“No, it wasn’t. Morgan—”

“They wanted to hurt me but he-- he’s the one who _volunteered_. He--” Morgan feels the sob building in her throat as her dad rushes towards her, kneeling right by the chair she’s sitting on and forcing her to look at him. 

“Morgan, look at me,” he says gently, the beeping from Peter’s heart monitor serving as a metronome in the background as she feels the tears well up. “It was _not_ your fault you hear me? None of this was your fault. God, I wish--” he gently pushes some hair behind her ear, a comforting gesture that he’s done for as long as she could remember only serving to make her want to cry even more. “I wish you hadn’t had to deal with any of this.”

“But I _did_ ,” Morgan chokes out, seeing the tears start to form in her dad’s eyes as she looks back to Peter. “And _he_ did and it’s… I can’t do this. I don’t-- dad, I can’t--”

He pulls her into a hug, all the anger and the rage she’d held onto so tightly falling away if only for the moment - allowing herself to be wrapped up in her dad’s arms and inhaling the familiar scent of motor oil and cologne envelop all her senses as she sobs into his chest, wrapping her own arms around him. 

Morgan’s nearly the same height as him now but she feels so incredibly young and small just then, allowing herself the chance to _feel_ everything she’d been trying so hard to avoid in Peter’s room. 

She wants answers for something that she knows he can never give - her dad being put in just as much of an impossible situation as Peter had put himself in by volunteering to save her, just as Morgan had been put into by daring to be born in the aftermath of a literal apocalypse. 

This isn’t the life she would’ve chosen but it’s the life she has - the thought occurring to her that even if Peter hadn’t chosen his own superpowers that he _did_ choose to be a hero, just as her own dad had. 

It hits her then that she can continue to hold on to that idea - her anger and frustration at the lack of choices that she’s been given - or she can focus on the choices she _does_ have. 

Morgan’s not sure what those choices are, or if she even has the ability to really follow through considering how messed up she feels, but it’s a start - letting the rest of it fall away as she sobs into her dad’s arms, wishing with everything within her that she doesn’t have to make her peace with being forced to live without Peter. 

* * *

If Morgan’s life was like the cheesy B-movies that people made about her dad, Peter would’ve woken up when she went to go see him - opening his eyes and waiting around for the two of them to have the kind of heart to heart that her and her friends made fun of anytime superhero stories came to an end. 

But her life _wasn’t_ a movie, finding out that Peter woke up nearly three weeks later while she was at school - fingers twitching against her side as she rides up the elevator with her mom. 

She’d gone back to see him a few times since the first, less tears but not any less of the guilt - a part of Morgan wondering not for the first time if she’d ever be able to look at Peter or her dad ever again in the same way. 

But at least now with Peter _awake_ , fingers thrumming against her thighs once again as the elevator dings - Morgan can at least try and make peace with the idea that Peter would at least be alive long enough that she can find out. 

“You ready sweetheart?” Her mom asks gently, Morgan nodding a little and feeling less like the sixteen-year-old she was and more like the six-year-old she wishes she could go back to - a time when her world hadn’t been any less dark or confusing but where she at least hadn’t really known any better. 

Peter’s room isn’t empty - May and MJ sitting beside him, her dad standing in the corner and her mom behind her. Yet everything else fades away at seeing Peter’s eyes open, an unexplainable anger welling up in her chest as she stares. 

It all comes rushing back to her - the stupidity of his sacrifice, the agony of what it was like to hear his screams, the fear when he didn’t scream at all - Peter blinking a few times groggily showing her that even if he was _awake_ , he was still a little out of it.

It takes all of Morgan’s self-control not to burst - into tears or to the screams she physically can’t give just yet, she doesn’t know - her mother’s gentle presence behind her forcing her to calm down as she walks towards Peter’s bedside.

“M’rgan?” Peter asks, the exact inflection a little too close to how it’d been when he was strapped into that chair - sharply inhaling as her mom presses a hand to her shoulder. 

“Hey Pete,” she says, her voice tight and controlled as she takes a step forward. “How are you feeling?” 

Peter smacks his lips a little, still completely drugged out from the look of it as he leans his head back and says, “Good. I’m good. Good, good, good.” 

MJ holds back a laugh just as May does, Morgan not finding it within her to even try and laugh along for how pissed off she still feels. Her mom seems to sense it even without seeing the look on her face, gently resting a hand on her shoulder as Morgan snaps back, “Glad you’re _good_.” 

The tension in the room skyrockets even if Peter seems completely oblivious to it, smiling goofily only for Morgan’s anger to rise when she sees that he’s missing _teeth_ \- wondering how she had missed _that_ during everything yet being completely unsurprised. 

“ _So_ good,” Peter says, almost giggling - a total opposite of the rage and the hurt and the guilt she feels in that moment, her mom’s hand a bit more firm on her shoulder as her dad says, “Morgan—”

“No,” Morgan says, hating how her voice breaks a little and at how emotional she’s been lately - the trauma of having been kidnapped and almost dying messing with her sense of self in a way she’s already wondering if she’ll ever really recover from. “He should know. It’s not-- it’s not _good_ \--”

“Y’re not good?” Peter asks, Morgan looking at him through blurred vision only to twist her lips together - Peter’s face twisting into an almost comical frown as he glances to MJ and stage whispers, “She’s _not_ good.”

“Pete,” MJ says, her tone both filled with affection and resignation as she places a hand to where the gauze was still wrapped around his own - Peter smiling dopily at her before his eyes travel to May, to her dad, then back to Morgan and her mom. 

“Good,” he mutters again, Morgan grinding her teeth as she stares at him. 

Morgan’s pissed off but even she can recognize from having seen Peter in various stages of being drugged out of his mind that he’s just that - awake but too far gone to really have any kind of coherent conversation. 

She knows that this is a precaution against the unimaginable pain that he’s going to be in - both now and for however many weeks to come. Morgan couldn’t see it the first time but she sees it now, the small and subtle shifts indicating that even if Peter looked like shit - he _was_ getting better. 

Morgan wants to have it out with him, to tell him that he was stupid and that he was wrong. To tell him she hated how it felt to hear him scream and hated it even more when he didn’t. She wants to tell him about how awful it was to think that he was dead, how angry she feels that he could’ve died in her place and yet how immeasurably, shamefully grateful that she hadn’t - how thankful she was to him for even making that decision in the first place. 

She wants to tell him about what it feels like to sit by his bedside and wait for him to wake up, just as she wants to empathize with him now even more so of how annoying it is when people do just that. 

Morgan hates him for this, hates this situation and yet she _loves_ him - the thought of Johnny coming back to her and how much he loved Peter enough that he was willing to push his own feelings aside just so that he could be there for him. 

Objectively, from her years of therapy, Morgan couldn’t say that was necessarily healthy but it was the best solution she had in the moment - taking a deep breath and forcing herself to look Peter in the eyes. 

Peter’s eyes seem to drift in and out of focus before they lock back onto her, lip half-raising once again as he says, “Mo.”

Morgan sighs, letting her shoulders sag as she says, “Yeah?”

Peter doesn’t say anything at first, Morgan thinking he’s about to lose his train of thought only for him to surprise her and ask, “Y’u okay?”

It’s cosmically unfunny considering the situation that they’re in, much less because of the genuine - if not completely drugged - expression on his face. That even now, literally ripped apart for her sake - he’s still thinking of anyone but himself.

She wants to tell him the truth, though Morgan’s not even sure of what that is - a conflicting and confusing mix of relief, regret and guilt having been her constant companions since they’d been brought to the compound. 

She doesn’t want to lie to him, but she gets the sense that Peter won’t remember this conversation anyway - walking forward as she moves to gently take the hand closest to her, only to hesitate when she sees that it’s still wrapped up in gauze because of the memory that flies behind her eyes, of Peter’s hand being mangled beyond all recognition from whatever toture he had endured. 

Morgan swallows that down as best she can but fails, coughing as MJ sends her a sympathetic look - looking at May and her mom before finally settling on her dad. 

He’s exhausted but there’s an anxiety there that Morgan deeply understands - thinking that it was a cruel twist of fate that she now had something that tied her to her dad and Peter beyond her name, her blood or any kind of chosen familial connection. 

They’d all been through hell and then some, they’d both been kidnapped. But for as angry as she still is at Peter and for how guilty she feels, she can tell from the pained expression in her dad’s eyes that he feels all of that and much more. 

”No,” she says, Peter looking confused just as Morgan can feel the people in the room wince a little at her honest confession. But it’s the best that Morgan can muster up in the moment, Peter just blinks a few times, nodding as he retreats back into himself and leans his head back against his pillow. 

It’s not the happy reunion she’s not even sure she wants, not in that moment, but it’s something - enough for Morgan to have some perspective and recognize that by Peter being awake and talking that she’ll _get_ to have it in the first place. 

Peter was a stupid, self-sacrificing idiot. Her dad made an impossible decision and now they all had to live the consequences.

But they would at least _live_ with them - the one thing she’s desperately holding onto. 

She’ll get to tell Peter exactly how she felt, how she’s always felt - if she’s brave enough - maybe even the most shameful of her secrets if she thinks he can handle it. 

Morgan’s never been one to try and cover the truth with a pretty lie yet it’s not a lie when she finally pulls herself a little taller, the relief of being alive pushing itself to the forefront as she tries to smile, feeling the smallest bit of peace just as Peter smiles back. 

“But I will be.” 

**Author's Note:**

> All my love to gru, who held my hand while I wrote this and listened to me scream.
> 
> I love it when people scream at me in the comments.


End file.
